She would never know why the dragon came for her, but it would fight no one else.

Not her mother, who tried to drown in a flood of tears.
Not her father, who shook the valley with his rage.
Not the white knights, who provoked the beast in turn with their antiseptic swords.

Her parents gave her pills to make her strong, and covered her in metal sheets of armor and artillery. She was to stay at home.

But the girl only wanted to pretend the dragon wasn’t there. She often snuck out, but the dragon would follow her. It trapped her in dark alleys and sharp corners. In one close encounter it sheered off her hair. Her parents told her to wear her bald head proudly so people would know she was a warrior.
The girl war a hat.
The constant running tired the girl. The armor was awkward and heavy, and her constant fear made her jumpy and anxious. She was growing weak.
The day came when she could run no longer.
The beast was waiting for her – its cruel eyes seemed to laugh at her pitiful appearance, for she carried only a single dagger. Once the dragon finished her, she knew it leave her family alone. She raised her arms in surrender, and closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see her own blood.
A piercing scream filled the air – it shook the valley, rattled the knight and brought the girl’s father to tears. But it wasn’t the girl’s scream – it was the monster’s! The beast continued to wail as the dagger struck it again and again, acting, it seemed, of its own accord. Astonished and renewed with hope, the girl took hold of the enchanted blade and finished off the beast herself.

…

Some people are born ill.
Others have illness thrust upon them.
But it is only in that moment of deepest fear,
armed with nothing but themselves that they become
The reluctant hero.